


Runway

by thomasjeffersonsmacaroni



Series: The Other 51 [34]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Audio Format: Streaming, Crimes & Criminals, Gen, not sure if this is the right tag bc the audio is on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9250625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni/pseuds/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni
Summary: Every single one of the audio files that runaway criminal Alicia Promyslova sends the police. All 15 of them.





	1. Episode 1: I Am

**Author's Note:**

> My voice is terrible, so of course I combat that by making a podcast-like original work. As one does.  
> A couple of important notes:  
> 1\. I couldn't figure out how to embed audio files into AO3, so I decided to post the transcripts here, and the first sentence of each one is a link to the Tumblr post where I posted the actual file.  
> 2\. I would like to apologize for the less-than-perfect audio quality, as Alicia does in the first episode, but just like her, I'm using nothing more than the Voice Recorder app on my computer.  
> 3\. Tuesday/Friday update schedule, or at least I'll try.  
> 4\. There are gonna be 15 episodes/chapters because I'm 15. :) And Alicia is Russian because I'm Russian.

[Hello, policemen and policewomen. My name is Alicia, and you already know me.](http://lukassgoggles.tumblr.com/post/155690435485/my-voice-is-shit-but-my-writing-is-better)

Others, if they by any chance get ahold of this recording, might think that this is an odd way to begin a letter to the police, even if it's a letter that you listen to and not a letter that you read. But first of all, what I'm saying is true. You _know_ it is. After all, I'm Alicia Promyslova, the predatory Russian who terrorizes towns and traumatizes children. Your nickname for me is Licia the Cruel, I've heard, though I really do have to wonder why. I've never killed anyone, as far as I know, only robbed them and occasionally shot them in the arm or the shoulder, and I, personally, reserve the "cruel" label for people who took other people's lives. I can't imagine a crime worse than that, except maybe rape, and I've never raped anyone either. I would never. I want you to know that right now, before you learn anything else about me.

And second of all, I'm kind of in an odd situation. After all, do you know any other Russian women who snuck out of their homes in the dead of night, took the thousands - no, _tens_ of thousands, we need to be realistic - of dollars that they owned, and drove away in a beat-up RV, on the run from the police but not feeling that way?

It really didn't feel that way. If we're going to get along, we need to be honest with each other. Surrounded by the lights of the city and a haze of sleepiness, humming along to my Spotify playlist, the drive felt like just another road trip.

"A haze of sleepiness." I can _not_ believe I said that. I'm a criminal, not a poet, and I do not intend to change either of these facts.

It's this sleeping arrangement, I'm sure of it. I've set up camp in one of the rooms of an abandoned hotel that I'm pretty sure is in some way haunted, and as I record this on the shitty Recording app on my phone - I don't have any more professional equipment or motivation to get it, sorry not sorry - I'm sitting on the roof, and I'm wrapped in a blanket, and there's a scented candle in front of me that I got on one of my grocery runs, and those are the only things keeping me warm. I'm pretty sure that under this atmosphere, even the dumbassiest dumbass, like me, will become a poet.

For example, here's something that I thought of just now. I'm looking up at these stars above me, and maybe somewhere, you're seeing the same view. You, whoever's listening to this. Maybe there's someone like me, troubled in ways she can never explain, sitting on her roof wrapped in a blanket and looking at the moon and feeling motivated to live just a day longer. And - can you _believe_ this? - that actually _encouraged_ me for a couple of minutes.

I know. Bullshit. Pure, pure bullshit. I can't believe that this is the same girl who robbed a bank and shot a guy in the _arm_ without a second thought. Maybe it's just an abandoned-hotel, midnight-recording, scented-candle thing.

 _An_ yway. I can't believe I spent this long talking about poetry. There is a purpose to this message, I promise you. And the purpose is that I ask you to remember the time you searched my house.

It wasn't technically a house, because it was an apartment, and it wasn't technically mine, because I was renting it. I had tens of thousands of dollars, but I was saving every penny for this road trip that I'm taking now. Anyway, when you searched it, I was already a full-on criminal. I had contacts in certain circles, I had a secret stash where I stored my money...the whole package. And most importantly, I had police on my tail.

So they obtained a warrant. _You_ obtained a warrant. I don't know what the process for getting one is, but you got it. That's the law, part of the Bill of Rights. I _think_ it's the Sixth Amendment, but I'm not sure. I'll have to Google it.

I was inside the house when you searched it, but I was in the bathtub reading a book and not especially inclined to leave. And you turned my humble abode upside down in that search of yours. Do you have _any idea_ how long I spent cleaning up? I bear no ill will - after all, justice must be served - but holy fucking shit. I started to question whether it was a bunch of humans that were searching me or a bunch of tornadoes.

You've got that picture in your mind now, I expect. _I_ have it in my mind. And now I ask you to remember my tenth robbery, the one that I performed with my partner in crime, Catherine the Great. She's Russian, too. I like her. And I like this nickname better than the one you guys have for her.

If the pieces aren't fitting together, then check inside the cat figurine in my house. It's huge. You can't miss it. That's where your first clue is.

Yes, I'm leaving clues to where I am. This endeavor is born of a combination of my unwillingness to get caught and my willingness to allow justice to be served. I will send you an audio file from the city of the location of the next clue, to which the first clue is pointing to, giving you hints to its exact location. This wild goose chase will end, never fear, and I promise you that when you come for me, I will offer no resistance. And you know that I always keep a promise.

That's the other thing I want you to know about me. I always keep a promise.

I hope that we can become friends over this, even though I know it's unlikely. It would be like the plot of a shitty romcom or a children's story about friendship in different places. And I'm sure that the one thing that we can unite over is that we hate those.

I'm growing tired of talking now, and I'm sure that you are growing tired of listening to me, whoever you are. I guess I'll know when you catch me.

There's hot chocolate waiting for me downstairs - I packed some in a thermos before I left. I hope that there's hot chocolate waiting for you, too. So I take my blanket and my phone and my scented candle, and I take a feeling of hope from the stars, and as I speak, I am moving towards the stairs that will take me down.

"A feeling of hope from the stars." I fucking did it again. What the fuck. I'll try not to be like this next time, or any time again ever.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	2. Episode 2: Red and Gold

[According to my watch and my knowledge of time zones, it should be around one o'clock for you. So good afternoon. I hope your donuts are the perfect mixture of sweet and mushy.](http://lukassgoggles.tumblr.com/post/155870166330/my-voice-was-exhausted-af-so-this-recording-isnt)

I've never actually seen a policeman eat a donut. I just thought of that. I'm the exact opposite of a policeman, actually, and I'm going to buy one after I'm finished recording this. God _damn_ do I love them.

It's around ten for me, and the only thing I had for breakfast was a McDonald's breakfast burger and a cup of steaming hot coffee. But I do feel rather energized despite my meager meal.

I'm used to living on less food than I should be eating. I don't want to talk about it.

Anyway, I left another clue to my location in this recording. I trust that you know where I am based on the clue I left you a little earlier, but in case you don't-

Actually, you know what? Fuck it. If you don't know where I am, you don't deserve to find me, and you should feel ashamed about your incompetence as a team of trained detectives.

I think you do know where I am, though. I trust you. I've never been here, actually, but I have connections. Russians. Any decent Russian criminal knows at least one Russian in every major city.

One of my connections, who asks me not to say her name but gives the hint that the second letter is K, is hiding your next clue. It is in a restaurant whose address can be found using the rebus inside the cat figurine. Go there and ask the waitress with the fluffy blonde hair for two pieces of smoked salmon and one tall, cold glass of lemonade.

Instead of bringing you a delicious, though not entirely wholesome, meal, she will bring you three differently shaped containers. One of them is shaped like a museum that I robbed and has your next clue. The other two are shaped like failure. Good luck.

This really is a beautiful city. If I wasn't on the run from the police, I think I would like to stay longer. There are museums, beautiful landscapes, and the hustle and bustle of the city.

And good food. Good food is an extremely important aspect.

...I say as I thrive solely on McDonald's and Starbucks. [laughs] I'm a mess.

I think I'll stay here for another day. You know, enjoy myself. Be a tourist. I even have a fanny pack.

My Russian contact is letting me stay at her house for a day, so we're going to talk and have fun and shit. And, of course, she's going to force some non-chain-restaurant food inside me.

Honestly, how the hell am I even alive? I lived alone. I, an adult baby, lived alone. And somehow I didn't electrocute myself or eat something I shouldn't have or drown in the bathtub or something. I don't even know.

You know, there's a really big bridge here. Dare I say a  _famous_ bridge.

I  _do_ dare say. You should know exactly what it is.

Anyway, it was originally painted gold, and it was known for being gold, but then the golden paint faded away, and now it's a bright red. And I found that rather strange when I read about it, how that damn bridge could change so drastically and still be known for what it was before.

Honestly, sometimes I think my golden paint is peeling off. But you, and the world, will always know me as the Golden Gate Bridge.

Goddammit, this would be so much easier if we were to just call it the Gate Bridge. And if we were to just call  _me_ Alicia. Then there would be no cause for confusion.

When I was born in Russia, the name my parents gave me was Alissa. But I haven't heard that in a long, long time.

 _You_ can't call me that. We're  _not_ friends. And I'm  _not_ getting into poetry again.

I have to go now. Donuts are calling me, and so is my stomach.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	3. Episode 3: Business District

[Have you ever had a cup of coffee so strong that you feel like you'll never sleep again, time is an illusion, and you are a machine with gears and levers instead of a human with flesh and bones?](http://lukassgoggles.tumblr.com/post/156008553620/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni-episode-3-business)

Because I just have. And the thing is, I've been to this coffeeshop before, but I don't remember the coffee being so strong. It was quite a surreal experience.

 _Now_ is a surreal experience, actually, as I drive through the streets of the town where I partially grew up. It feels like home, this place, even though I know that it never will be. Criminals, as a general rule, don't have "homes." Only temporary residences that they get attached to.

I'm particularly attached to this temporary residence, though. That's why I chose it for the location of your next clue.

The Tampa Bay History Museum is a spot I used to frequent as a child. I'm very interested in history, you know, and fun fact: I was so homeless, and so poor, that I didn't go to public school. The workers of that museum are the only reason I have an education. There was even a Russian employee there, and she taught me the alphabet and grammatical rules of my first language.

 _Da,_ another Russian. Don't question it. We're everywhere.

This Russian, sadly, did not agree to help me. In fact, when I called her, she cussed me out and called me a criminal.

Now, I don't understand that. Why call people what they are as an insult?  _I_ don't insult  _you_ guys by calling you police officers. Makes no sense.

Anyway, the guy that  _did_ agree to help me also works at the museum. Go there and ask for Nate, and when they bring him to you, ask him for the "Special Tour."

He will guide you around the museum, pointing out various items and telling you things about them. All of these will arrange themselves into your next clue, if you are smart enough to figure them out. And who knows - maybe you'll learn some history along the way, too.

History is fun. Maybe I would have become a historian if it weren't for...

...my sudden pull to crime. That's the only reason why I'm not a historian. Nothing else. Nothing. Else.

I wish I could stay here longer. As I drive down the roads, I see buildings, I see street signs, I see parks, and a tourist would label them as nothing, most likely just drive through on their way to one of the more popular landmarks in Florida, like Miami or something, but not me.

Where you see just a street, I see the street where I first learned to ride a bike. I borrowed one from one of the neighbors' sons, and he spent a whole day teaching me how to ride it.

Where you see the business district - extremely small for one of its type, I've seen much bigger in the other places I've traveled - I see a girl in smelly clothes, clutching in her hands nothing but a teddy bear, begging for spare change. But most businessmen are, after all, businessmen, and they have places to be and things to do, so the girl very often goes hungry.

Okay, maybe that memory isn't so good. I think I see now why I chose to spend my free time in San Francisco instead of here.

I don't know what else I can say. Perhaps I can tell you about the shop where I performed my first robbery, and the mysterious gentleman who saw me and took me in and taught me the art. Perhaps I can tell you about how I even learned English in the first place, though it has less to do with the city of Tampa and more to do with the Russian town of Zhukov.

Or perhaps I can even tell you about how I came to be here, detail to you who I was before Licia the Cruel, fearless Russian robber. Maybe I can tell you about Alicia Promyslova, about Alissa the young Russian girl, about everything I was and everything I am.

But I know you won't listen. So I end this recording here.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	4. Episode 4: River

[Good evening! Or at least, it's evening by your time as I record this in the early morning. I've got tea brewing in the corner, I'm laying out biscuits, and I'm ready to put on my casual dress and sightsee.](http://lukassgoggles.tumblr.com/post/156236528360/transcript)

Fun fact: this is my first time traveling abroad ever since I came to the United States from Russia. And honestly, it feels to me like the greatest place in the world.

I almost forgot to make sure that your clue was correctly placed. That's how busy I've been walking the streets and sightseeing. Even though I know I'll never truly be a tourist, I can at least pretend to be one. It makes me feel better.

There isn't really much I can say about this clue. It should be obvious based on what you found in Tampa's museum. So instead I wish you nothing but genuine good luck in finding me. I promise that even though it may seem like a wild goose chase now, it will end soon. And you'll have caught a woman convicted of grand theft larceny.

I've been thinking about how one-sided our relationship really is. I leave you clues and talk about my life, you listen.

Or at least I hope you do. I don't want to think that all my efforts are for naught.

But anyway, I don't think you've ever responded to me. You've never told me how  _you_ are, what  _your_ inner struggles and worries and fears are, how  _you're_ reacting to this clue hunt.

So tell me, if you're not too shy. My inbox is always open. And I would say that I'm a pretty interesting person to talk to.

Feel free. We may not be friends, but there's some sort of relationship between us for sure.

You know, I really love this city. It's  _beautiful_ in its layout, there are a  _ton_ of amazing landmarks, the  _people_ are nice, the  _food_ is nice, the  _weather_ is nice.

Okay, maybe that last one isn't entirely true. But I am in love with this city, and I wish with all my heart that I could have the chance to stay here forever. That's a complicated process, though, and I really don't think they'd give citizenship to a criminal.

But I'll miss it when I leave. There's a river here, a beautiful one, and it runs through the entire city. And I always go to water for calm when I'm stressed. I've been going to water for calm ever since my childhood in Moscow. I was stressed a lot.

And I went to water during my coming-of-age in Tampa. I was stressed a lot there, too, but I got used to it, so I felt that kind of necessity less and less.

I've started feeling it again, though. The stress. There's a combination of many different factors, none of which I really understand. I've never been good at psychoanalysis of myself.

I'm getting hungry, and we're getting deep. Both things mean that I have to leave now.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	5. Episode 5: Return

[As I record this, I'm slumping with exhaustion in an unfurnished room, wrapped in a quilt that was left here from the previous owners, twirling a lock of hair around my finger, and waiting for the _blinyi_ dough to settle down so I can make them.](http://lukassgoggles.tumblr.com/post/157445509845/transcript-guys-if-i-put-out-an-ep-a-day-with-one)

I don't know why I suddenly feel motivated to make Russian food. But I looked up a recipe on my phone, transcribed it with a pen and paper, went to the grocery store, and now I will dine like a true Russian with sour cream and honey and milk and fish eggs, which I used to hate with a passion, but now suddenly felt a strange desire to eat.

This place is making me feel weird. I don't know why, and I made a failed attempt at psychoanalyzing myself, but I think you can guess by the word "failed" that it didn't work at all.

I'm bored here, but bored in a good way. Now that I'm not on the run from the police - yes, you guessed right, where I am now is where your wild goose chase ends - I can enjoy life in peace. I can make Russian food and eat it alone, I can catch up on my favorite TV shows using the Netflix subscription that I went through the trouble to buy, I can wrap myself in coats and scarves and gloves and take walks outside in the snow, feeling the gentle crunch of the white powder under my boots and the cold stinging my reddening cheeks.

I don't see snow that much. Obviously Russia is among the coldest in the world, but remember that I was only a young girl, maybe seven or eight, when I stowed aboard on a plane and found my way to Florida. And you know how it is with Florida and winter.

It's cold here, though. So cold that I can finally fulfill my dream of sitting by the fireplace, hot mug of cocoa in hand, watching the snow fall outside while I sit with that quilt wrapped around me and read a book. Maybe when it's later in December I'll even play Christmas music.

Fun fact about me: Christmas is one of my favorite holidays. Maybe I'll go to the P.O box and send you guys a gift. I mean, I'm obviously wealthy enough to do so, and it would be a good way to uphold the spirit of the holidays. If you don't celebrate Christmas, which is totally okay, just consider it a show of my kindness.

Oh - your clue. I can't believe I forgot. I also can't believe I spent an entire recording waxing poetic when I swore I wouldn't do that, but I guess the hypnotizing climate of where I am now does that to people.

Anyway, your clue. It's in one of the airport's restaurants - you should know which airport from your last clue - and the way to get it is to go to that restaurant and ask for Masha to give you a takeout box of chicken nuggets and French fries. She'll bring it to you, but it'll be empty except for a couple of pieces of paper with an extremely complicated rebus puzzle. Solve the rebus, and you'll have directions from the airport to my new home, where I will be waiting for a police car to fly up and arrest me.

I promise I won't put up a fight. I'll even stand by as you check me to be sure I don't have anything I can use as a weapon.

And, for the record, I _really_ hope you're following these clues. I spent _months_ on that rebus. _Months._

I'm getting tired. And hungry. And I'm pretty sure the dough has settled down by now. So I bid you adieu here.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	6. Episode 6: Something Like Home

Why is it that every time I call you, I have some sort of food or drink waiting for me? Today it's hot cocoa and chocolate chip cookies that I'm going to frost red, white, and green. I'm throwing a party, actually, and I'm inviting a couple of my neighbors. And of course I'm getting into the spirit of Christmas as much as possible.

Speaking of, did you guys get my scarves? I've been bored, so I picked up a bunch of knitting supplies, looked up a tutorial on YouTube, and knit in all of your favorite colors. Amy, I even made you a Hufflepuff scarf, like the house from Harry Potter. You were complaining on Facebook about there being no merch.

I agree entirely. We're a very underappreciated house. And I hope you liked the little badger I embroidered.

That brings me to the second "why" question I'm asking myself. Why am I even sending you this? The clue hunt is over, even though I haven't been arrested yet for some reason. And obviously, we're not friends. Our relationship is literally you trying to arrest me for grand larceny.

Are you really, though? I haven't heard from you guys at all. Haven't been pointed out, either.

Anyway, whether you care about catching me or not, the thing is...you guys are the deepest connection I have with anyone. My neighbors are my friends, of course, but the closest we've gotten to deep is "sometimes I feel unwanted" "me too, it's okay, I love you" "love you too girl."

Which is fine, of course. We're good friends, and I genuinely like them.

But you guys see me as I really am, as the person who knits sweaters and eats Russian food and hates poetry but not really and loves Christmas and traveling and London. I mean, the neighbors see me as that, too, but I'm using a fake name with them, so they don't see how all of that coexists with my criminal record.

You guys do. And although I haven't given you the linking detail, the reason why I am both Licia the Cruel and Alicia the Traveler (that's my personal nickname for myself, do you guys like it?). You see two sides of me. The rest of the world only sees one.

And you guys have become like my personal diary, my place for me to sort out my feelings before they explode on me and others.

I don't really have any feelings I need to sort out today, though. I'm really enjoying this domesticity. Alone, except for the rather frequent neighbor visits or outings to ski rinks or things, I have time to cook, to bake, to knit, and to have the peaceful, safe life I honestly never knew I needed. I'm not bored at all, and somehow I feel like this is what I always wanted.

Yes, I'm about to be arrested, and this home is about to be taken away from me, and yes, I'm dreading that more than I can possibly [voice breaks] say, but at least I can [sniffles] enjoy it while I can.

[whimpers, then laughs, though the laugh is obviously not genuine] I'm sorry. I'm probably making you feel guilty for doing your job. Please don't. Justice must be served.

I can't talk anymore. I have to go.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	7. Episode 7: An Unrequested Story

[Well, it finally happened. I'm bored.](http://lukassgoggles.tumblr.com/post/157545224635/transcript)

Don't get me wrong, I love my life, but everyone needs some variation every once in a while. So I decided to make my variation happen by finally taking that leap of faith in our relationship and telling you about my tragic past.

It doesn't _start_ tragic. It starts with a hospital in Obninsk, Russia, with a wife in pain and a white-sheeted bed and a husband squeezing her hand so tightly that she screams, and with the births of twins: Alissa Promyslova, the elder, and Aleksandr Promyslov, the younger.

Affectionately, we were Lissa and Sasha. And to each other, we were brother and sister, and we loved each other more than we loved anyone, and more than words could possibly say.

I was very young then. But my memories are distinct.

We grew up in Zhukov, a farm town about an hour and a half from Moscow, and we would spend hours on end playing with our toys, playing tag in the grass, and daring each other to climb the walls of our houses as high as we could, all the way to a little flat spot on top of the roof. When we were older, and by that I mean six or seven, we used it as an escape from the screams of the inside of our house. We had our teddy bears, named after each other, and we squeezed them tightly, glancing down worriedly as we wondered what could possibly be happening below us.

One day, the police put a ladder up and took us down and into their cars. The only explanation that they gave us is that our father had done something bad to our mother, and our mother had done something even worse to him and herself. And after that, neither of us saw Zhukov ever again.

Gone was school and friends and picking tomatoes in the vegetable garden. Gone were our parents, though we were too young to understand why. Gone was my dear home of Zhukov. Our only reality was a shitty Moscow orphanage.

And by shitty I mean _shitty._ They never gave us any sort of schooling, they never cared about the actual well-being of their children, they never had any sort of wholesome meal available in the cafeteria.

Sasha and I were bullied mercilessly. Our days were spent huddled together, being beaten and yelled at and hurt, while we held each other and stifled tears, knowing that if we cried it would be worse. We didn't understand why they hated us so much. As an adult, I _still_ don't. Maybe it's just that kids are assholes, and neglected kids even more so.

I think the orphanage director knew, but as long as we kept quiet and left her alone, she didn't care. Maybe if she had done something, even the tiniest thing, about it, I wouldn't be here now.

My life is full of these "maybe if"s. Maybe if my father hadn't raped my mother, maybe if she hadn't killed him and then herself, maybe if the orphanage was better. But that's behind me now. What's done is done.

One day they went too far. The bullies smashed my brother's head against the stone floor, kicking him and punching him and _destroying_ him, holding me back so I didn't try to stop it. They didn't notice, or didn't care, that there was blood fucking _pouring_ out of him, and that he was bent at an unnatural angle, and most importantly, that he had stopped moving.

The orphanage director disposed of the body. She said that if she told anyone, it would reflect badly on the orphanage and her.

She didn't give a _fuck_ about my brother. Only about the reputation of the orphanage, which of course leads back to how much money she gets.

After that, I took my teddy bear Sasha, and my brother's teddy bear Lis, and I stole some money from the director's cabinet, and I sneaked on to a plane that, even though I didn't know it, was headed to Tampa, Florida.

And then it's just the image of a helpless girl wandering the streets, going hungry, barely knowing Russian, let alone English, nearly dying until the employees of the Tampa Bay History Museum take her in.

They took me to the Russian employee's house. She taught me both languages, as well as the school subjects, which I picked up fairly quickly. She seemed happy that my favorite was history, and she was determined to give me the good future that she passionately knew I deserved. Obviously, this eventually ended with her cussing me out and calling me a criminal, but ah well. Was good while it lasted.

And then she started running out of money. And I overheard her talking to a friend about what to do with me, so without thinking, I just left. Just left and never came back.

I stopped going by Alissa and adopted the American Alicia and I started robbing stores just to have money to stay alive. Yes, the Russian employee's upbringing made me feel guilty, and yes, after a certain point I could have enrolled in college or something, but the very first couple thousand rubles I had taken had put me on a path that I couldn't get off of.

This clue hunt of yours is something like a redemption arc. An atonement for my sins, if that's how you prefer to think of it. And even though this simple cottage life is blissful, every second I don't see you is like a stab in my heart.

Please come to me. My sanity depends on it.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	8. Episode 8: On The Run

[After I word vomited in your email inbox about a week ago, telling you about my tragic past and shit, I deliberated for a long time about how I should begin talking to you again. How do you have a casual conversation about New Year's parties and turkey and white elephant exchanges when you know such deep things about the other person, when it feels as if the slightest offense is a felony?](http://lukassgoggles.tumblr.com/post/157584204755/transcript)

Don't feel that way. As I tell you time and time again, justice must be served.

That's actually the main purpose of this message. The landlord is kicking me out of my house. A rich couple wants to buy it, and they have much more money than I ever will.

So last night I made a tearful goodbye to my friends, wrote up some hasty clues, and as I record this, I am in a hotel once more, and I'm putting down your first one.

Ask the receptionist lady, and she'll give you a copy of my favorite book ever, _Anna Karenina_ by Leo Tolstoy, as well as a book cipher that will guide you to the exact place in the hotel where my next address is.

I won't be there. It's just one of those bed-and-breakfast places, and I can't stay. But just like the last clue hunt, this one will end at a place where I _can_ stay.

You can't imagine how sad I am to be wandering again. With all my heart, I wish that I could have stayed in that little North Carolina cottage forever.

But what must be done must be done. No other way to go about it.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	9. Episode 9: A Framed Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Tumblr is being a dick, so from now on the files will be posted on Dropbox :)

[I have a story for you today. My last clue for you actually consisted of two, so you'll find nothing of help in this message. Just something that happened to me that I thought you might find interesting.](https://www.dropbox.com/s/czlbhdxym7q6iro/runway%20ep%209.mp3?dl=0)

Last night, I was sitting on the couch, and my legs were propped up against a pillow, and I was reading a magazine, towel wrapped around my head, when I heard a knock on the door. Hastily, I put on a bathrobe and opened it, thinking that it was you guys, finally come to get me.

"I'll just get changed and get my things!" I was prepared to say. But when I opened the door, you were not behind it. Behind it was a room service lady dragging a cart.

"Oh, hello," I said. "Should I leave to let you clean? Because that's no problem with me. Not at all."

"No, of course not," she said, smiling sweetly. "I've been fetched to get you. You have a visitor."

 _Oh,_ I thought. _They're downstairs._

"Let me get changed first," I said.

I hastily put on a shirt and sweatpants, then took the towel down and left my room, breathing through my mouth.

Yes, I was prepared for this. But that didn't make it any less frightening.

When I came downstairs, though, there wasn't a police force. There was a young boy in what seemed to be a school uniform with a brown suitcase in one hand and a framed photograph of a Golden Retriever in the other.

"Hello," I said to him, tilting an eyebrow in confusion.

"Hello," he said back. "Are you Alicia Promyslova?" he asked me, pronouncing it correctly.

"Yes, I am. Who are you?" I asked him.

"My father is a policeman," he said, as if it were a common fact.

"Oh, is he outside?" I asked, very confused at this point.

The boy turned around and looked through the window, as if afraid that he _was_ outside. "No," he said after he did. "No, he's not. I'm alone."

"Why have you come for me, if not to arrest me?" I asked.

And at this point I felt like he had a long, long story to tell me. So I took him by the hand and I led him up to my room.

"My father doesn't treat me well," he told me, sitting on my couch while I went to the little fridge in my room and took out a Coke. "He always yelled at me and sometimes he hit me or forgot to feed me. And..."

He pointed at the Golden Retriever.

"This was my dog, Hamilton. Or Hammy for short. And...and he got cancer. I tried to take him to the vet, but my dad wouldn't let me, even though we had the money."

He clenched the frame tighter as he glared down at the ground, squeezing his eyes shut.

"He died. And my dad wouldn't even let me bury him. And I was so mad, _so mad,_ that I went on his computer and looked through his emails.

"I found your recordings, Ms. Promyslova. And when I listened to all of them, I realized that the police hadn't found them. So they didn't care about finding you. But I did."

"But why?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. He was escaping from you. And for some reason, he thought that I would be a good place of refuge.

"I wanted to run away with you. Because you...you seemed like a good person. Someone who would treat me well. So I ran away with just some clothes and my most important things, and I found your clues and found my way to you. It was like an adventure."

I took a deep breath. It would be hard for me, with this boy. Harder than it was alone. And I would have to find a home for him before I got caught, or abandon this mission entirely.

But as I looked at him, and as I thought about myself, I realized that I didn't care. Because I knew what it was like to be left alone and forgotten, and when that had happened to me, there had been good, kind souls who had chosen to take me in. I could continue this cycle of goodness, if only I said yes right now.

So I did.

"Of course you can come along, dear. You can call me Alicia. I would hope that we're friends now."

The boy smiled. "I would hope so, too."

He gave me his name. I won't say it here, but the policeman who is his father knows who he is.

Apparently you're not even listening to these. But I'll keep sending them. They're a good place to vent, and I can't miss the opportunity to tell you to-

 _Fuck you! Fuck you, this boy's father! Why the fuck do you not give a fuck about your child, so much that he went to a fucking_ criminal _instead of being with you! What the fuck is this?_

He's safe with me. I hope you're fucking happy.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	10. Episode 10: Drive

[Good evening, policemen and policewomen. I'm on the roof of a hotel right now, and the boy is sleeping down below me. It is relaxing and beautiful, and I feel satisfied for the first time in weeks.](https://www.dropbox.com/s/zjt0gu1wqxxcpex/runway%20ep%2010.m4a?dl=0)

Tomorrow we're traveling abroad again. To Spain this time. I don't think it's any use keeping it a secret. I bought two tickets and booked hotel rooms, and I went through the trouble of picking fun, family-friendly things that we could do while we were there so that he didn't get bored.

"You don't have to do that," he told me, eyes closing with tiredness, while we were driving to where we are now.

We were driving all day. He was such a good conversational partner that I didn't feel lonely at all.

"I'm just happy being with you. And away from my father."

"I'm your new parent," I protested. "And that means that I take responsibility for your safety and happiness. I'm pretty sure that's what parenting entails. Now, is there anything in particular you want to do?"

"Not really, Mom," he said, smiling, just before he fell asleep. And I knew he didn't see it, but I smiled back.

I woke him up when we drove through the McDonald's drive-thru, to ask him if he wanted a Happy Meal. He said yes, a hamburger. And I woke him up again in a couple of minutes to eat it.

"I think I'd like you as my mom," he said as we ate in our car. "You're a good mom."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

I had never wanted children. Or romance. But now, the former was gaining more and more appeal with every passing moment.

"Alicia," he said, just before he fell asleep again, as I was in the middle of driving.

"Hmm?"

"Am I a bother to you?"

"No, of course not. Why would you ever be a bother to me?"

"I don't know. My father always said that I was a bother to him and that he wished that I had never been born."

"Your father," I said, sternly but not too sternly, "is a piece of sh-oelace. Don't you dare listen to him. Anyone who says you're a bother is someone not worth having around, and you can punch them in the face if you want. Or send them to me."

"I'll do that," he said softly.

"Good. Do that."

"Alicia," he said again.

"Hmm?"

"If you change your mind, can you tell me? Because I don't want to stay around if you don't want me to."

"I'll never change my mind. Never ever ever."

"But if you do..."

"If I do, I promise I will tell you. But I also promise that I'll never stop wanting you around. Okay?"

"Okay." And with that, he fell asleep for the last time that day.

I'm not sure if he's sleeping now, with how much he slept during our drive. But I know that he'll never leave me. I _hope_ that he'll never leave me.

And by the way, all the other policepeople who aren't this boy's father? I hope you didn't endorse his treatment. Because I don't think I'd feel the same way about these messages if you did.

Well, I'm tired. I'm going to bed now. Good night.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	11. Episode 11: Plazas and Misunderstandings

[I'm so tired from today, so overwhelmed with happiness and stress and exhaustion, that I barely made it to the roof of our hotel to record this. And boy, oh boy, do I have a story for you.](https://www.dropbox.com/s/5zkt3ps833ar3el/runway%20ep%2011.m4a?dl=0)

Madrid, by the way, was absolutely _beautiful._ Plazas and statues and cobblestones and history soaked through the city, drenching it in its scent and absorbing me in it. The locals spoke Spanish, obviously, but a lot of the younger ones spoke English as well, so I had them help me around when I didn't understand something.

The boy and I visited pretty much everywhere, or at least it felt like that. Our last couple of days were spent adventuring and adventuring and adventuring and adventuring, and... _ah!_ I was so, so happy. It seemed like the happiness was overflowing me, spilling out and drenching me and the entire city in its beauty.

That is, until I was walking through Madrid's central plaza, and I realized that the boy's hand wasn't slipped into mine.

I inhaled a sharp breath of air, ears burning red and heart pumping fast with panic. I looked around, squeezing my hands into fists so tightly it hurt, but I couldn't find him anywhere.

So I looked around the city, practically running up to locals. Obviously I couldn't expose myself to policemen, but I anticipated that the locals would call them anyway, so I gave them a fake name that they could use when they asked who this was.

"¿Dónde está el niño?" is a phrase I have now memorized.

[laughs] Yeah, my Spanish isn't the best. But the English-speaking youth helped me a lot. And eventually I found him, shaking with pure fear, at a café table drinking hot cocoa and eating churros.

"Hey," I said. "Do you want to go home?"

"Yeah, let's go home," he whispered. "I want to go home."

By "home" I meant, of course, our hotel. But I got the feeling that just for a split second, he meant something more.

Let's not talk about that. I sincerely hope I was just imagining things.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	12. Episode 12: Tickets

[Remember I told you last time about what happened in Madrid? How he caused so much trouble and I had to go find him while also not exposing myself to any local police forces? Well, I've been thinking about that for a long time.](https://www.dropbox.com/s/lb8ol7dikwqtrer/runway%20ep%2012.mp3?dl=0)

It isn't that I hate him or anything. I told him before that he would never ever ever be a bother to me, and I still think that. I will never ever stop thinking that.

The only thing that I'm thinking right now is that escaping from the police _with_ a child is harder than escaping the police _without_ one. And if I get caught, what will happen to my boy?

Will he be sent back to the father who abused him? Will he be shipped over to a shitty orphanage? Or will he be just another homeless child on the streets, lost and alone, like little Lissa Promyslova back in Tampa?

I can't let that happen. So I've made an important decision.

I will stop this little clue hunt game. I will stop this effort to be caught. I will take the boy, and I will travel by plane to Siberia, and we will begin a new life, anonymous, aboard a ship.

Away from the world. And away from you.

I'll tell the boy as soon as I finish recording this. He's in his room right now, sad because he thinks I think he's a bother, but I will reassure him that I love him no matter what.

I hope he thinks our escape is just another adventure. I hope he doesn't hate me. And I _especially_ hope he doesn't hate himself.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	13. Episode 13: The Airport

[Yesterday, I came to his room and knocked softly on his door. I didn't want to disturb him, and I always hate it when people come to me unannounced.](https://www.dropbox.com/s/93hqpi4v1gxmen9/runway%20ep%2013.m4a?dl=0)

"Come in," he sighed, sounding like an old man. So, ignoring the pang in my heart at hearing him sound so tired, I did.

"Hey," I said. "I have something to tell you."

I ignored the already-packed suitcase that I saw on the floor. Or at least I tried to.

"What is it?" he asked me.

"We're leaving for Siberia tomorrow. On a plane. And then we're boarding a ship and starting a new life."

The boy blinked once but did not speak.

"No clues," I continued. "No escapes from the police. I can't do that anymore."

"But you always liked it so much," he protested. "Why are you stopping now?"

"I liked the traveling aspect of it. And the ship that I've found will travel, too. But I can't keep the police chasing after me. What will happen to you?"

It loomed over us. And then he nodded.

"Okay. I just don't want to be a bother," he said.

"You're not. I promise. You will never ever ever be a bother. This is as much for me as it is for you. All right?"

"All right," he repeated, eyes glazing over with tiredness already.

"Do you want to talk about it more?" I asked. He still looked as if there was something on his mind.

"Not really. I just want to be alone for a while. Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay. But remember that I'm always here for you if you need someone. Remember that always, all right?"

"All right."

And then he stepped forward and hugged me tightly.

"I love you, Alicia," he murmured into my chest. It was the first time that he had ever said anything like that.

"I love you, too," I whispered, running my free hand through his hair.

"Good night."

I went up to the roof, but I didn't record this then. I just sat and watched the stars, breathing in and breathing out. And once I had grown tired enough, I went into my room and barely managed to sleep.

I woke up the next morning and went to wake the boy up. But he was [voice breaks] _gone._

I'm trying to find him. I'm trying with every ounce of my goddamn strength. So if he went back to you for any reason...tell me. Please. I know our relationship isn't exactly the most orthodox but... _please._

I have to go now. I think I got a phone call downstairs.

See you soon, police. Till we meet again.


	14. Episode 14: The Harbor

[This is the last thing that I will ever send you. And I'm sure you can guess how the story ends.](https://www.dropbox.com/s/7acz6a4s0yb2fn2/runway%20ep%2014.m4a?dl=0)

I couldn't find him anywhere. I recruited my contacts, I asked locals in my rough Spanish, I even asked the police, body shaking with desperation as I begged them to help me.

Weeks passed. I kept my phone's ringer on even during the rare moments when I managed to sleep, and I watched it practically all the time, waiting for a call, heart jumping into my throat when it buzzed. But none of the messages I got were about him.

I suppose I'm free now. I could write up another set of clues that you'll never read, maybe even go down and turn myself in just like that. But honestly? I don't think I will.

I'm sick and tired of keeping this game going. Of getting close to person after person after person only to let them go and move on. Of moving, from Zhukov to Moscow to Tampa to New York to I don't even fucking know or care, of never feeling like anywhere is truly home. My heart is tired, as I read in a book when I was younger, and so am I.

So I'm traveling to Portugal - Lisbon, to be exact. I'm buying a ticket for a ship to France, and I'm going to try my hardest to forget it all. Forget everything that's happened to me. Forget my brother, forget my criminal career, forget the little boy who trusted me and loved me and let me go.

And forget you. At this point, I honestly don't know how I feel about forgetting you. And I don't even know whether I'm going to succeed in my mission.

But I do know one thing. I am going to put all of my past behind me.

I'm buying the ticket right now. Earlier today, I ventured into the deep web and bought a fake passport and other ID for the name Janice Werminger. It's not a very convincing disguise, I must admit, but I hope that it'll work for me.

My ship leaves tomorrow. I've sold my car and everything else that I own in preparation for my journey. And in the morning, I will leave for my new life, leaving everything else behind me.

I used to be sad when I thought about it. And I still am, but...not as much. I don't know.

Well, I guess this is it. Goodbye.

See you soon, police. Till we meet-


	15. Episode 15: Janice Werminger

[Hello, policemen and policewomen. My name is Janice, and you already know me.](https://www.dropbox.com/s/g9lypndu6wzg7wo/runway%20ep%2015%20finally%20im%20free.m4a?dl=0)

Or at least I think you do. Why else would I get a letter from an undisclosed address, get a letter to my home in France, with this e-mail and a request to tell you about myself by audio recording?

There _must_ be a reason. And even though at first I considered ignoring this, I couldn't get it out of my head. So here goes.

I actually have amnesia. I can't remember anything earlier than the moment I stepped into Paris off of a boat from Lisbon. All I had was a piece of paper that said "Janice Werminger," so I assumed that that was my name.

And thousands of dollars. I also had thousands of dollars.

So I bought up a tiny little Parisian apartment, and I took some online courses to learn French - I didn't even know French, can you believe that? - and then I got a job as a florist just ten minutes' walk away. Other than my visits to the therapist twice a week, that's basically my daily routine.

Oh, yes - the therapist. He's an American, and he says I look like the legendary robber Alicia Promyslova, so we're exploring a theory that I might be her. He doesn't think it's likely, though, because she is presumed dead. And I don't think it's likely, either, because she was known as Licia the Cruel, as an evil person, and I'm not like that. I'd never do anything bad to anyone. I'm a good person - or, at least, I'd like to think I am.

Whoever I am, though, we haven't been able to figure it out. He says that I've probably buried it deep, deep into my mind, that something horrible happened to me, so I covered it up and pretended that I was okay.

He's probably right. Sometimes I get these - _flashes._ And there's _too much_ to understand, so many images, and they last only for a second, and I don't know at all what they are, but I always get this really bad feeling when I get one of them, like whatever these images mean, it's something awful.

So I get the feeling that I had a rough life before I became Janice Werminger. And honestly, I think it's better for me if I keep it buried where it belongs.

I live normally. I tend to flowers, and I cook dinner, and I wear pretty dresses, and I walk the city, and it is a simple life, but I feel somehow like it is what I always wanted.

And yet I'm sending you this, without knowing at all why you or I need it. Maybe there's more to me than I realize.

Something's coming back to me as I record this, and this set of memories doesn't have that horrible taste to it. I almost... _want_ to have it come back.

A teddy bear in my hands, and twin giggles as we look at it. I think I'm young in this, and a boy is with me - my brother, maybe? Maybe I had a brother?

But that's as far as it goes, and when I try to push myself farther, maybe figure out where we are or what happened afterwards, that awful taste comes back.

That boy was my brother, though. I felt it somewhere deep inside me.

More things are coming back to me. Cities, bridges, buildings. Driving in a car - I don't even own one now, but I guess I used to - and humming along to music.

And a blanket, a candle, and a handful of stars.

That's a good memory. Maybe my life wasn't as bad as I thought it was. Maybe I'll try again to remember.

But whatever happened to me, whatever came between these slices of good...I still don't know what it is. And even now that I'm talking to you, and I'm remembering - my brother, my brother, I had a brother - I don't _want_ to know.

Here in Paris, here with these flowers and pretty dresses and cobblestone streets, I'm safe. I'm okay.

On second thought, I don't think I'll keep trying to remember. Maybe I'll make something up to my therapist. Or maybe I'll terminate my sessions entirely. But I _don't_ want to remember.

I'll end my recording here. There isn't really much left to say.

Goodbye, police. I hope we meet again.


End file.
